Mock Jet Set

What a week. But first let's talk about my hair. I am in love. When was the last time you heard me say that about my appearance? I'm sitting at MIA airport on my way to Cape Cod for Ben and Laura's wedding, super psyched.

But back to the hair. I washed it for the first time today (you have to wait 2 days), let it air dry and poof, Sally Hershberger. Choppy, layered, straight, and thankfully, chic. I didn't really know how it would look so flat since Andreas had cut it while curly.

So, I managed to squeeze in a helluva lot in my two—well, thanks to fucking Delta three—days in the city. Sunday night I dined with Michael, Saveira, Maccia and my great girlfriends at Morandi in the West Village.



I stayed with Schwartz so got to hang with her a little even though she'd just returned from the Hamptons and was exhausted. Monday, hair! Quick run to Saks—nothing. On to Bergdorf—plenty I couldn't afford. My one indulgence was a cute fuchsia satin headband, on sale, natch. Monday night one of my Facebook friends and I met for dinner and drinks at Centrale and had a blast. I can def see why Mackenzie is the features editor of the New York Post—she's freaking hilarious and smart and fabulous and I'm so glad we hung. She also has the most perfect skin I've ever seen and brought me a tub of this miracle all purpose cream that I'm loving. (Thanks babe.)

Mackenzie and I after I'd had the hair done.


Tuesday—my god. I was staying on the UES, and ended up going downtown and to the Westside way more than usual.

Lovely lunch at Mel's gorge apartment and Monty sure lives up to his Monty Monday escapades. He is like the most well-trained dog ever; makes Wally seem like a wild wolf or something. Every time you throw his toy, he leaps up and catches it in his mouth. I think MLB could use him. (The day after the hair was done.)


Oy, reality check about the hair. Upon inspection in the airport bathroom it didn't exacltly dry perfect. I'm definitely going to need to flatiron it when I land. (Have I mentioned that I'm driving by myself from Boston to the Cape? Have I also mentioned I've only been to BOS once, 16 years ago? I got GPS in the rental car, but I'm sure I'll still get lost.)

From Mel's apartment uptown, all the way across town to Chelsea for a last-minute, part-time job interview copywriting for Chico's. It'd be a purrrfect gig for me—three days a week in the South Florida office, leaving me two days to do my own freelance/book stuff. From there I rushed back to the UES to visit Vicky at Chopard. We had a coffee at Nespresso, caught up very quickly, and I'm happy to report that she is doing very well. Love her. So—here's where it gets insane. I arrive at LGA at 6 p.m. for my 7:30 flight to JAX. Cancelled. No flights out to JAX any later. Remember, I had to drive to MIA the next day to catch this flight to the Cape today. I freaked, but took action. I booked myself on a Jet Blue from JFK; took a cab from LGA to JFK. Got there to find out the departure time was delayed till 11:30. It was about 1:30 a.m. when we took off. I arrived at my parents' house after 4:30 a.m. I went to bed after mom awoke. Woke up yesterday, drove back to Miami. Repacked, got a few hours sleep, left at 8:45 for the MIA airport and am now sitting on yet another plane. Yes, I'm exhausted, but I'm going to the Cape, yay! Beaches, and friends and celebrations, oh my!

I have the honor of giving Laura her something borrowed—a piece of jewelry, naturally, that Roxy gave mother for her "18th birthday. Or high school graduation. Or maybe it was my 21st birthday? Something like that." Okay, the plane is about to take off. Buh-bye.